Tuesday, April 06, 2010

We have a local farm nearby that we pass frequently, whether on our way to work or the store.

A couple months ago, I noticed two little cuties on the property:

On my way home from work, I always looked forward to the part of my drive that I got to see the pigs. I would come home and tell Scout what they were up to that day like they were my kids.

Shortly thereafter, Scout would come home and ask, "Did you see the pigs today?", or say, "I saw the pigs today; they were laying in the sun."

When we were driving together, we'd squint our eyes over to the big field and see who could spot them first. It was the farm version of I Spy.

Saturday evening as we were heading to the movies, the pigs were nowhere to be found. We shrugged it off and listed off some reasons they might not be there. Like, maybe they're sleeping. Or maybe they got moved to another piece of the property.

We didn't find out until today that they were attacked. By humans. Twice. (Don't worry, Meg. They survived both attacks.)

I know it must sound silly, but I feel a little bit invested in these pigs. My immediate response was to offer to pull security with my Remington 870.

Sunday, April 04, 2010

Have you ever done something so stupid that you have a hard time wrapping your brain around what could have possibly possessed you to do it?

I have. It was today, in fact.

We closed on our house in August of last year. By my calculations, that's about about seven or eight months. Keep that number in mind.

One of the selling points of this house was the jet tub in the upstairs bathroom. Scout couldn't wait to use it. When we closed on the house and Scout went to take his long-awaited bath (remember, we lived in an Airstream for six weeks prior to that), we were both disappointed when the jets wouldn't work.

Logically, I knew there must be stuff growing inside the jets. But when we cleaned the tub, the jets were always wiped down where the visible grime was. And the jets didn't work anyway, so what did it matter?

Well, today as I was bathing, getting ready to shave and push back my cuticles so that I could paint my toe nails, I decided I wanted to know why the jets weren't working. EIGHT. MONTHS. LATER. Do you know where this is going yet?

I pushed the button. The button that never worked before.

Well friends, the button worked this time. And I promise you that I was totally covered by spattering particles that looked like boogers. Don't take my word for it. See for yourselves:

Scout heard me screaming obscenities and came running upstairs. He walked in on me, completely frozen, and I said, "The jets work. Help me."

I started thinking about the eight months all that crap had to grow. I can't even think about it without wanting to dry heave.

Saturday, April 03, 2010

There is a doll that will crawl as you walk past her, one that says prayers in Spanish, and numerous dolls that wiggle and coo like puppies. I don't envy those of you with girls (ok, I do. Just not the doll part).

We were in the doll aisle for one reason: We've decide to give the Dr. Phil potty training method a try. A doll that wets herself is suggested (along with noise makers and party hats).

I was very discouraged by the fact that this baby has breasts. Seriously? Do you see her knockers? (Gross!) I wasn't particularly happy with the selection of party hats, either.

This is the kind of silly crap moms do for the love of their children. And for the sake of potty training.

Mommy Phrases

"Barbie doesn't go in the dishwasher, Honey."

"No! Don't put the egg on your nuts!"

Followers

Guard well your spare moments. They are like uncut diamonds. Discard them and their value will never be known. Improve them and they will become the brightest gems in a useful life. -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

We are alone, absolutely alone on this chance planet: and, amid all the forms of life that surround us, not one, excepting the dog, has made an alliance with us. -- Maurice Maeterlinck